Here's my blog. I just started it.



What's hot:

Peach smoothies
the Cleveland Indians
Gillian Welch
Autumn
East Nashville, TN
Orson
My Friends and Family
New Balance sneakers
California
College Football
Khaki pants
They Might Be Giants
Chess
Shepherd's Pie at the Family Wash Restaurant
Cibo Matto
Clogs
Mos Def
Kenyon College
Daschunds (all dogs, really)
Lox and Bagels
John McCain
Broccoli
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Moselle (White) and Wilamette (Red)
You

What's not:

Lattes
the New York Yankees and Chicago White Sox
False modesty
Passive-aggressive co-workers
Smoking
Flipping your collar up
Sherpa Boots (aka "Ugs")
Jeans
the Tennessee Lottery
Wal Mart
Starbucks
People who talk but don't listen
Chain restaurants
Hummers
People who park in their front yards
Chihuahuas
Bling
Cats not named "Cat"
Eggplant
Ann Coulter
Geraldo Rivera
Champagne
Not You

My friend Amanda has this link to a self-guided poetry exercise on her blog, an exploration into what
you take with you from childhood into adulthood. It's a template for a poem by George Ella Lyons,
and as I was going through it, I realized a lot of things about my upbringing.
Try it, you'll like it.
If you want to give it a go, here's the link.
Below is my poem.

I am from the end of the four-lane highway, from John Deere and flat, rustling cornfields.

I am from aluminum siding, black shutters and brick, filled with loud conversation and the scent of ginger.

I am from ash and linden, buckeye and maple, the magnolias blooming in the spring.

I am from Pura and Conchita, from Lacuesta and Malata, from boisterous laughter and always being
ready to fight but never having to.

I am from singing in the back yard with my father, with his guitar, with a choir of neighborhood children
who cried when they heard the echoes of their parents calling them home in the dark.

From "Only boring people get bored" and "If you want rest, do a different kind of work."

I am from altar calls and raising of hands, then years of nothing, then the 10:30 am Eucharist.

I'm from Washington DC, from Fabrica and Bacolod City, green bean casserole and chicken adobo.

From my father who pulled me out of a high school dance to help him stack bricks in the dark,
from my mother who always says the punch line too early,
from my grandfather who had thousands attend his funeral.

I am from countless shoeboxes, filled to overflowing with memories, hidden under the bed and visited often.
I am from songs everyone in my family knows by heart.